


Static

by Hinganbachuru (Twilight_Joltik)



Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club
Genre: A lot of characters are referenced, Gen, Televoid, it's Asagao I swear, none of them are there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilight_Joltik/pseuds/Hinganbachuru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flickers of black and white melting into grey. That's all that's left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

**Author's Note:**

> To be fair, I wrote this in English class for a freewriting assignment and just refined it a bit. It's connected to the AU I'm working on with a friend, but loosely. Well, not so much loosely as it is vaguely. So, enjoy the show~!

It’s empty. So empty. It’s nothing if not empty. But still, there’s something there. The couch, the screen, the potted plant, the blinking light…

 

Somehow, the static on the screen seems more there than him. More present, more its own, least of all because his own thoughts were starting to blur into the lines of black, white, black, white, blurring into grey. Sometimes he swears it flashes colors, but he can’t tell if he’s seeing it right. 

 

But no, he’s sure it flashes. Flashes purple, blue, red, orange, green, and back to purple, the same color as the jacket he’s wearing. 

 

He has never owned a purple jacket. Never had one with uneven drawstrings and a hood he half wants to put up just to have an extra layer of something between his ears and that buzzing but he can’t, he can’t. Either way, he’s wearing it, and it feels like his, it feels like a second skin, fits almost perfectly, but he knows it does not belong to him. 

 

Everywhere, there’s nothing, nothing but static in his head. He tries to lay down, to block it out, but black and white and black and white and grey dance across his eyes and he can’t think, can’t let himself drift off, can’t pull himself back to reality. The twilight haze is scarier than the heaviness of his lids, than the black spots dancing across his vision.

 

Sometimes, he feels like laughing. This is what [coffee bitter ink glare] must feel, and he tries to remember who those words belong to but he can’t, it’s too far away. Someone always says to be quiet when he falls asleep in the club room that isn’t his, someone who’s [warm kind collector smile], who he can’t remember either. 

 

Nothing is in his memories but the buzzing of static and the pain behind his eyelids. He has always been tired. He has always been empty. 

 

Staring at the static on the screen, sometimes he can catch a glimpse of himself when the static goes black for a split second. Every single time it scares him. The dark-eyed, shell of a person on the screen isn’t him, it can’t be. But it was, it had to be. So what was different, what was wrong?

 

Though he tried to remember, all he got was disconnect. A distant scream [loud obnoxious drive partner], a few offkey notes [fine painful reaching sorry], a whiff of something floral and sweet [petals pink falling breaking]. His mind had devolved into one of those sets of magnets, the ones you try to make poems with but fail utterly every time. 

 

He wanted pictures, not poems, but one picture showed in his mind: static. 

  
There was an occasional surge of desperation, the thought that [candy feathers sky light] was alone and he [alone drowning muffled crying] needed to get out and make sure [friends team group everyone] was alright. But soon, he’d forget what he was worried about, it’d be lost to the static. 


End file.
